My Roommate: The Untold Story

The End

**Why have I done all these things?** The weight of my actions now crashes down on me with full force. I am him. I am the killer. I was out of my mind, and the guilt claws at my insides, seeping into every corner of my soul. **Agent Walker is dead.** I killed her. I am no different from the monsters I sought to expose—I *am* the monster. The bullet lodged in my arm is nothing compared to the agony of remorse tearing through me. This isn't what I intended. This isn't how I imagined things would unfold.

My body weakens under the strain, and I no longer have the strength to resist. I let go. Lying there, I surrender to the darkness that clouds my vision. The world around me becomes murky, spinning in a dizzy haze. My eyes close, and the nightmare begins to fade.

---

I wake up.

Staring at the wooden ceiling above, I realize I'm somewhere familiar. This isn't the cold walls of a prison cell, where I belong after all I've done. The pain in my arms and shoulders is still there, but the ache in my chest—it's worse. I deserve to suffer. I deserve to be punished. I deserve to rot in prison for the blood on my hands.

I sit up, glancing around. Confusion strikes as I recognize the room—**my room**. How did I end up back home? Who brought me here? My legs tremble as I stand, and dizziness nearly knocks me off balance. Each step feels like dragging a weight. Guilt and shame grip me tighter with every memory that flashes through my mind.

I make my way to the bathroom, leaning on the walls for support. I splash cold water on my face, trying to shake the thoughts from my head. My reflection in the mirror is a shadow of the man I once was—eyes swollen and bloodshot, a face haunted by sin. I scrub my face harder, desperate to cleanse myself of the past.

Suddenly, a shrill ring shatters the silence. My heart races. It's the phone on the table, and it won't stop ringing. A knot forms in my chest. **I know** I have to answer. There's no running from it.

With a trembling hand, I pick it up. "H-Hello?" I stammer, my voice barely a whisper.

"**Hi, Eddy!**" a familiar voice responds, far too cheerful for my state. "How would you feel about staying in the dormitory again?"

My blood runs cold. I drop the phone in shock, the sound echoing in the quiet room. **That voice—** it's Mr. Jung. But how? This conversation... has already happened. My mind races as I look down at my arms. **No scars. No bullet wounds.** It dawns on me—**none of it was real.** The killings, the guilt, the madness... it was all a dream. Or perhaps a premonition.

I let out a long, shaky breath. Relief washes over me, knowing that the horrors were nothing more than my mind playing tricks. **But why did I dream of Chris?** Was it a warning?

I bend down, pick up the phone, and place it back to my ear. "I'm sorry, Mr. Jung. What did you say?"

"I was just asking if you wanted to return to the dorm. A new roommate will be arriving next week. Do you want the room?"

I pause, feeling the weight of the decision press against my chest. "I... I don't think I can, Mr. Jung. I'm sorry, but I have too much going on right now."

He sighs, disappointed but persistent. "But this is what you've been waiting for, isn't it? Your new roommate will come alone—no colleagues this time. Isn't that what you wanted?"

I hesitate, then shake my head even though he can't see me. "I wish I could, but it's just not the right time."

"Well," Mr. Jung continues, "I suppose I'll offer the spot to Alex. He'll probably jump at the chance—free stay, free food, free laundry. And from what I've heard, the new roommate's a kind man. He's religious."

"Religious?" I ask, my curiosity piqued.

"Yes, it's Chris. **Chris Lee.**"

---

**The End**

---